They walked toward the front door.

Simon put his hand on her cheek. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“I really miss Grandma. And I knew a lot of my relatives didn’t exactly see eye to eye with me, but I think now some of them really hate me.”

“You have had a rough time lately. I’m sure all the vandalism hasn’t helped either. I was surprised to see the windows fixed so soon.”

“Me too. I had called around and all the companies told me two weeks. Then Dad took over, without telling me of course, and voilà, they’re all fixed in a few days.”

“He fixed your tires too. Jed seems to be a handy man to have around.”

“Too handy. At this rate I’ll never learn to take care of myself.”

Simon leaned down and kissed her. “They’re just trying to convince you how nice it is to live close to home, so you won’t move halfway across the country again.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

After Simon’s departure, the intensity of the rain increased. Skye curled up on the couch and listened to it hit the sliding glass doors. It sounded almost like a spray of bullets. Bingo wedged himself into the bottom shelf of the bookcase, between books by Grant and Isenberg, and yowled forlornly.

Unable to get back into her mystery, Skye turned her thoughts to her grandmother’s murder.

Maybe Wally was right. Maybe the murderer was someone in the family. She closed her eyes and shivered. As her grandmother used to say, that would be a bitter pill to swallow. Skye would much prefer it be those survivalists. They certainly had proximity. But would they try to pass off a murder as death by natural causes? Grandma wasn’t assaulted, nothing was stolen, and everything was put back to look normal. If a member of that group was the killer, what was the motive?

Grandma’s “magic” table caught her eye. She ran her fingertip lightly over the polished wooden surface, straightened the lace runner so that it lay exactly down the center, and adjusted the silver-framed picture of Antonia.

Next, Skye wandered into the kitchen and peered distractedly into the fridge, still puzzling about her grandmother’s death.

Why would anyone want to kill Grandma? Maybe Uncle Dante because he really wanted the land. But since it was in trust and he was the trustee, he had control anyway. She needed to look into the details regarding that arrangement as soon as possible.

Minnie was the only other one she could think of who had even a slight reason to want Grandma dead. Even though they had a housekeeper, Aunt Minnie had insisted on cooking every meal for Grandma, which meant running over to the farm three times a day. Maybe she was tired of taking care of her, especially if her own mental health was deteriorating. Her spells had been getting closer together and of longer duration since she started going through menopause. Now instead of one every few months, Minnie was likely to have one every three or four weeks.

Skye closed the refrigerator door without taking anything from its shelves. She opened a cupboard and stared inside. She knew neither her parents nor Vince could have done it. That left Aunt Mona and her cousins. She needed to find out more about them.

Tomorrow she’d go over to Grandma’s and take another look around. Maybe she would recognize things that the police had missed. She especially wanted a chance to check out the garage. She was sure someone had been in there Monday, when she found her grandmother’s body.

Skye slammed the cupboard door, still empty-handed. What had she been thinking of? She couldn’t go during the day unless she wanted everyone and his brother to know what she was doing.

Too many of her relatives lived along that road and routinely passed by the farm several times a day. The house was plainly visible as they drove by. There was nowhere to hide the car. Even if she pulled it into the garage she risked being caught in the act. Skye realized she had to go while it was dark. Tonight would be the perfect time. Fewer people would be out because of the storm.

She changed into black jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and stuffed her hair underneath a dark baseball cap. The only flashlight she could find was in the glove compartment of the car. She hoped the batteries would hold out.

During the drive to her grandmother’s, she tried not to think of what she was about to do. Skye knew it was dangerous, but she had weighed the odds and decided to take the risk. She had briefly considered calling someone to go with her, but her parents’ latest assaults on her independence left her reluctant to ask for help from anyone.

It was nearly ten o’clock when she parked the Buick at the farm. Storm clouds covered the moon, blotting out the little natural light available. Skye got out of the car and hurried through the rain toward the garage’s side entrance. She clutched the flashlight tighter and forced herself to step inside.

She swept the flashlight’s beam around the unfinished walls. Hanging from nails were rusted shovels, broken rakes, and other discarded yard tools that no one had touched since Grandpa had died. Jed took care of the lawn using his own equipment.

Skye felt disappointed and shook her head at her own foolishness. What had she expected to find in a garage?

A car-sized space was empty, but the remaining floor held three boxes, a discarded kitchen table, and a broken rocker. Skye squatted next to the first carton and eased open its flaps. It was filled with old magazines. Reader’s Digest, TV Guide, and Better Homes and Gardens shared space with Country Living.

Skye pulled up the rocker and positioned the flashlight’s beam to fall on the contents of the box. She began going through the periodicals, checking each title and shaking them to make sure nothing was hidden inside.

The second crate held more of the same-Family Circle, Redbook, and Outdoor Life. Skye resumed her inspection.

After an hour all she had to show for her trouble was a mountain of subscription cards, a sore derriere from the cracked seat of the chair, and dirty hands.

Sighing, she pulled over the third container. This one was secured with packing tape and after breaking two nails she decided the only way to open it was with a knife. Not seeing any suitable implement in the garage, she tried picking the carton up.

The medium-sized box was deceptively heavy. She struggled to get it into her arms and walk with it to the car. It was a relief to dump it into the backseat. Thinking of Simon’s admonishment the night her tires were slashed, she locked the car doors.

Skye was completely wet by the time she returned to the garage, and could feel her damp hair curling tightly as she put everything back the way she had found it. She was walking out when she heard a fluttering sound overhead. Frightened, she swung the light upward. A bird was perched on a board that ran the length of the building.

These strips of wood had been erected for additional storage. Skye swept the area with her flashlight. It was empty except for a trunk.

No way was she climbing up there to look into a chest that had no doubt been there since her great-great-grandparents came over from Italy. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Skye was dragging an old ladder with several missing rungs to the middle of the floor. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, she stuck the flashlight into her cleavage and climbed. As she went farther toward the ceiling, the heat and dust increased, and she fought to keep from sneezing.

Once she reached the trunk she discovered that it was too heavy to bring down the ladder. But the lid opened easily, and she leaned against the top step and felt inside.

At first, Skye thought the chest was empty, but she finally felt something on the bottom. She inched up one more step and was able to curl her fingers around the object and lever it up enough to grab. It was heavy, and her hand ached by the time she got it back to the ground.